


Stay with you some more

by so_damn_Mishalicious



Series: Witchery AU goodness [10]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Friendship/Love, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by The Witcher, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Mentions of Injuries, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Spirit World, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), no beta wie die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23899039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_damn_Mishalicious/pseuds/so_damn_Mishalicious
Summary: 'Throughout it all Jaskier is at his side and though Geralt is grateful for company, he cannot help but to bristle at the secret looks of pity the other sends him.What the fucking is happening?!A Witcher's life is never normal or calm. But it had never been outright chaos. Something's not right and he can't stop it from happening.'----Geralt's life is turned upside down when he meets a bard at Posada. Not thinking much about the events surrounding them at first, he begins to realise there's something really strange going on, with him on the turning point and no way to stop this from descending into madness.(Aka Geralt is stuck in his own personal hell and there might be more truth to it than he's willing to admit)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witchery AU goodness [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686538
Comments: 43
Kudos: 336
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	Stay with you some more

**Author's Note:**

> Another spontaneous idea resulting from a joke 🤷♀️ I hope you can appreciate my nonsense
> 
> Enjoy!

Life on the path is very much the same every day. It rarely significantly changes, but does grow worse after Blaviken. Besides that it always goes down the same road.

Hateful looks. A contract. Slaying monsters. Bleeding a lot. Being in pain. Sometimes there is payment. Others there are stones raining down on him. Throughout all he's alone, just him and his horse against the world. Geralt is used to that, can tolerate it that way. 

Suddenly there's the bard with his everrunning mouth and too bright clothes that sting in eyes, grinding on his nerves. For some stupid reason they are abducted by elves, beaten and bruised but ultimately set free. He makes his way back to Posada to collect payment and the other insists on tagging along. He punched him, snaps and hisses. The bard named Jaskier stays. It's infuriating.

His unwanted companion cannot be much older than eighteen, is barely more than a babe. No wonder he isn't capable of defending himself, cannot wield sword nor bow.

"I'm a lover, not a fighter." Jaskier quips, cheeky smile in place and Geralt wants to hit him once more. There is no place for something useless like love in his life. The path is unforgiving when it comes to weakness and he's not some glorified bodyguard to take care of some stray bardling.

No matter what he tries, he cannot shake off his companion. It's like a curse, the brunette always finds him, pops up by his side like he appeared from thin air, never ceasing in his talking. Geralt wants to scream and rage. Sometimes he does, even drawing his sword and yelling at the other to fuck off and leave him alone again. He just wants some goddamn peace.

Jaskier just smiles, fingers never stopping to play his lute, 

"By all gods, what a foul temper you have, my dear Witcher. This is just perfect for the song I have in mind."

Urgh, the songs. Those blasted songs haunt him at day, invading his dreams at night. He finds himself humming some under his breath while tending to Roach or worming their way into his mind while he rides. Worst is 'Toss a coin'. The Witcher nearly needs a month for it to stop coming to him in random moments. It feels like going mad.

He is trained to have perfect control over his body, mind and senses. All of that are essential tools for survival, for fulfilling his duty without surrendering to the embrace of death. Every doubt and weakness could mean demise. There is no space for hesitation and distractions in the heat of battle. Going against that means inevitable demise.

Geralt faces the consequences for his lack of discipline. A striga nearly flays him alive, sinking through his armor with her claws, ripping open his abdomen and tearing a piece out of his throat with her fangs.

With his signs and potions muting the pain, he can subdue her but succumbs to blood loss soon after, struggling to get back to the camp they sat up outside. Memories of pain and Jaskier's horrified face accompany him into the darkness. 

Agony is a loyal companion when he wakes again, lying on a bed roll next to the fire. Bandages cover the wounds, not perfectly positioned but functional. The bardling sits on a log, staring into the flames before blue eyes snap to him. Relief paints his young face.

"Melitele's tits, you are alive! You had me terribly worried." he mutters, unusually quiet and quickly joins his side, "How do you feel? Do you need something? I'm not very versed in treating wounds, I just- it stopped the bleeding and..."

The rambling continues and Geralt notices how normally skilled fingers tremble while they move. He really had him worried.

His voice is rough, more than even the Witcher is used to, as he croaks out, "Water..."

The bard flails into action and gets him not one but two water skins that he empties with deep gulps. His throat burns like it's on fire and the cool liquid soothes the worst.

Leaning back and closing his eyes again, he listens to the sounds around him. The crackle of the fire. The rustling of the leaves above. The slowly calming heartbeat of the human at his side.

Jaskier saved him, though he has no need to do so. The boy owes him nothing. Sleep calls to him once more, whispering promises of easing his sorrows. Before he slips under, he rasps out a tired, "Thank you."

Moments pass in silence, before the other responds.

"You're... welcome."

There is an emotion lingering in the words, he cannot place. He drifts into a dreamless slumber.

+++

Taking rests is nothing but a hindrance. 

Witchers heal quick, faster than any human. There is no need to stall the inevitable for his own comfort. Hurting won't stop a Witcher from functioning, so they are on their way just one and a half day later. Jaskier heavily objected, trying to talk some sense into him but Geralt ignored his pleas and words of reason, mounting Roach to return to Maribor. Each step taken along the path irritates his wounds, but he bears it with grim determination. A little pain was nothing to be prissy about.

Blue eyes linger on him more often than not. The bard is quiet today, just walks in front, not talking or playing his instrument. Somehow the silence irks Geralt more, than he's willing to admit.

They reach the city when evening falls and after brief discussion, he receives the reward he's owed. The alderman lowered the fee due to a proof of the kill missing, but Geralt takes it without complaint. He just wants some food and a hot tub, nothing else. The inn is bearable, neither good nor bad. Stepping inside, the lively conversations die down, all eyes set on him as they walk over to the bar. The air stinks of fear and hostility, sweat and alcohol. They are lucky if they are not run out the tavern tonight, with tension thick enough to be cut with a blade.

The owner is reasonable enough to rent them one of the two requested rooms. It's all they have left with a market taking place in town. He's willing to throw in a bath as compensation and Geralt begrudgingly accepts, slipping the necessary coin to cover also a meal and drink over the counter, before moving to the corner of the fairly crowded room to sit there. With walls behind his back and framing one side, there's no way to sink a blade into his spine without him noticing, only an upfront approach left. People tended to shy away from that, so makes the most out of it.

The bard joins him soon, sitting down to face his companion, whole demeanour twitchy and unnerving. Two mugs are brought by the wench and to busy his hands the other drags one closer and sips at it.

"So... this is normal? I mean, _this_?" he subtly gestures towards the other patrons that returned to their conversations, now lowered to low mumbling. All of them seem wary, like they expect the Witcher to jump them any given moment.

The white-haired man grunts in response, nursing his own drink. "Regularly. Better get used to it, this is still mild."

Jaskier looks appalled, his gaze flicking from the older man, to the others inhabiting the room, to his mug. Licking his lips to wet them, he says, 

"You do have an image problem but I'm willing to rebuild that mangled reputation of yours. After all everyone likes a good story, right? If I can inspire them with more of our heroic adventures, who am I to pass on that?".

Geralt hums quietly into his watered down ale. 

"Usually humans don't enjoy stories with Witchers involved. There is nothing heroic about our work."

A fond smile makes its way to the bard's face, brightening the mood a little. "Leave this to me, my dear friend. I sure know how to spin a tale or two. But to do that, I need details!"

He inches closer, expression open and keen to get to work, emphasizing his words with an exaggerated gesture.

A soft huff leaves the Witcher's throat before he resumes to drink in silence, ignoring the bragging bard.

+++

With surprising ease he grows accustomed to the soft timbre of Jaskier's voice. Nonstop chatter, rhymes and bits of songs fade into the background, constant white noise accompanying their journeys. Even while not being much of a fighter, the brunette is versed in different aspects, like collecting firewood and berries for a meal or haggling with merchants, clients and the likes. Jaskier grows into being a constant in the gruesome life he calls his own, a lingering presence at his side without malicious intentions.

There are still contracts and monsters. Also he's bleeding an awful lot, bordering on outrageous.

But now there are also gentle hands tending to his wounds, playful banter at night while sitting near the fire. There are genuine touches to his scarred self, soft petting of his hair or Roach's fur. A shared bedroll when nights turn too cold. Nimble fingers working on his armour when a buckle refuses to open after a stressful day. Sought out body warmth after they aren't able to find shelter during a thunderstorm.

Geralt wonders when he started to care - care that much for a friend he never wanted to have in the first place. When sleeping in a tavern room, so the younger could rest in a real bed took over camping outside. Regular hunting to keep them both fed got preferred over simply not eating at all. Or feeling like Jaskier's existence being a plague turned to something he actively wished for.

At times he catches the brunette looking at him when he thinks the Witcher doesn't notice. Guilt is written over the handsome features and he muses about the reason.

People start to be more tolerable, too. Swayed by songs and obnoxious tales about heroes that are none. Humans prefer to be lied to, instead of seeing the cold, hard truth. To be given a choice, even if they were manipulated into believing there was one at all. Glowering glares slowly turned to impassive gazes. A few word of thanks uttered when full payment is made.

People didn't spit in his food or drink that often or are more willing to throw in little comforts in exchange for his services.

Unlike himself, he found he smiles more often, not as much as Jaskier, but still. Words spilled easier from his tongue, some nights they had whole conversations. It feels eerily strange, yet good.

By the time Geralt can admit to feel content with their arrangement, the other is gone. Winter has come and it's time for him to return to Kaer Morhen. Frankly he doesn't remember parting from the bard at all.

+++

The time in the fortress passes in a blur, all muddled when he tries to recall what happened there.

He never had problems remembering, so it irritates him beyond measure. Geralt is sure he had been with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir but when he thinks of what they did or talked about, his mind comes up blank. No matter how hard he tries. Nothing. Then he meets Jaskier again and slowly forgets about it. The year together passes quickly, filled with contracts and more adventures. 

Maybe he has caught a sickness over the winter. His heart does funny things when the bard touches him, in passing or on purpose. The Witcher is no blushing maiden, yet he feels flustered and at loss what to do.

Without him saying anything about this puzzle he cannot solve, they part from each other again. Geralt is sure he misses the bard. Though he can't remember being gone. There's just cold emptiness inside his body.

The cycle repeats. And again. Then again. A dozen times over at least, if not more. 

Geralt always meets Jaskier, sometimes earlier, others later. They pass the year together, then go their separate ways after autumn. With each year passing by he gets wounded more badly, more often. No matter how grievous the wounds he attains, he always survives in the end, the bard still with him. It's like the monsters get stronger while he stays the same, maybe weakens from the strain put on his body. They're numerous wherever they head, like every village is plagued by them. The Witcher endures all the injuries, lucky not to lose a limb or two, to still be alive and breathing. 

He remembers a time where monsters and contracts had grown sparse. Witchers running out of business. What the fuck happened? Was there another conjunction of spheres involved, showering the continent in beasts?

Also with the years going by the events involving him become more abstruse. There's a child he claims with the Law of Surprise just moments after witnessing destiny unloading its wrath over one not being respected and he has no clue why he does it. It's downright idiotic but out of his mouth before he can think about what to answer. Like it's not him saying it.

Then there's the a djinn and a sorceress he… loves? One thing is for sure - he's shit with words and shittier with emotions. No way he loses his mind about a woman he just met, no matter how beautiful and enthralling she is. He did that once - with Renfri - and paid the price for that. Oh and he also can't sleep for shit and he doesn't know why. There's a jail and someone hitting him, then exploding. With a wish he links his destiny to the witch and she vanishes in an outrage. Geralt feels miserable again and one thought won't leave his mind.

_What the fucking is happening?!_

Throughout it all Jaskier is at his side and though Geralt is grateful for company, he cannot help but to bristle at the secret looks of pity the other sends him.

A Witcher's life is never normal or calm. But it had never been outright **chaos**. Something's not right and he can't stop it from happening.

More time flies by like he's caged inside the events, burdened to suffer through them. The next strange occurrence is a dragon hunt and he jumps at the chance to join, after noting the sorceress attends as well. 

A dragon hunt, really? He doesn't hunt dragons, They're basically extinct.

Still he goes along and looks at the mage. Looks at Jaskier. Looks at Jaskier more intently, as he doesn't seem to have aged a bit over their decades of being together. There are no crow's feet, no wrinkles, no grey hair. The bard should be in his forties now, looks like he's still in his twenties and usually behaves like he's ten. Even this Roach is still the same without being exchanged with a younger horse. 

It's impossible for that to happen.

The man hiring him falls down a cliff and there's shame and grief coursing hotly through his veins. The sorceress - Yennefer, he reminds himself - hovers closeby. They fuck, they fight, they hurt each other. Jaskier sits with him, trying to cheer him up. The fallen man suddenly is a golden dragon and for fucks sake - _these don't exist_. 

He wants to laugh at the absurdity of all this. It's like a child making up a story with him as the protagonist.

Yennefer and the dragon are gone and Geralt is so damn angry about everything. Jaskier says something, something casual and irrelevant to lighten the mood and suddenly Geralt is yelling. "If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you-"

He catches himself spitting out those words, actions screeching to a halt. This isn't right. 

_This - is - not - right._

"No. No! Fuck, what is happening? What is all this?!"

Amber eyes meet blue ones and then he notices. He realises. _Jaskier knows._

A growl tears from his throat, demanding and resolute in nature.

"Jaskier, what the fuck is happening here?"

The bard smiles nervously, fidgeting at the depth of his voice. "I- I don't know what you mean? I mean - you saw what happened, I was back there in the camp and didn't-"

The bard stinks of shame, guilt and regret. _Lies._

It takes just three strides to cross the distance between them and yank him close, hand fisted in his doublet. Feeling like a feral animal tearing on its chains to break free, he snarls, teeth bared.

"TELL ME!"

The other shrinks away, cowering in fear and it soothes some of his rage to see him distressed like that but he wants to know. Needs to know.

Finally the other surrenders, eyes watering and voice a shriek.

"Please, stop! I'll tell you, I promise I'll tell you everything but please, I beg you - please… don't hate me."

The desperation rings true in the uttered plea, so he lets go, setting Jaskier back on his feet. Golden eyes stare relentlessly into the other's as he demands one more thing.

"Now talk."

+++

"You're dead, Geralt."

They sit in the camp on the mountain top again, facing each other. The Witcher frowns at hearing those words.

"I'm what?"

"You're dead. You died a while ago. After what happened in Blaviken, a mage sent some goons after you. They attacked you while you were heavily wounded from fighting a flock of Bruxa, taking advantage of your weakened state. You had no chance to survive."

Jaskier's eyes are fixed on the ground, his complexion pale and vulnerable, not daring to meet the Witcher's gaze.

It takes time for the realisation to sink in and remnants of memories return. The vampires, blood everywhere. Blades glinting in the dark. A taunting voice hovering over him.

_'Stregobor sends his greeting, you sick freak.'_

So he retired the Witcher way after all. He died, bleeding out in some shithole in no-man's lands, alone. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He should have killed that fucker when he had the chance. 

Still some things don't add up.

"So this is afterlife? I always thought it would be different. Calmer maybe."

Jaskier worries his bottom lip, choosing his next words wisely.

"This is afterlife, in a way. These scenarios are based on your memories and experiences, to make it more realistic, easy for you believe it. They do have some weaknesses but serve their purpose."

The missing bits from the winters. Obviously whatever created this couldn't fill all the gaps but did an outstanding job at conjuring distractions. Geralt muses for a second if the bard is real at all or just a piece of imagination.

"Purpose? What purpose?" the Witcher asks, curiosity not sated to fully believe in this to be real. Shoving aside a small stone with his foot, the bard (if he really is one) continues,

"This supposed to teach a lesson, to redeem actions and make peace with yourself. It is normal to become harder and harder until one can bear it no more and breaks, so one can see and accept the truth. After all, this is hell."

_Hell_.

Geralt blinks, shocked by the revelation.

He sits in fucking hell. With a bard. His bard he corrects. It doesn't answer why he's here though. Sure, he hasn't been the best person alive, but not the worst either. He tried to be good. That had to be worth something, right?

Jaskier senses his thoughts and replies, 

"Hell is no concept like some religions make it out to be. This is not about punishment - not entirely. You're here, because your soul isn't ready to move on. This whole thing is set up to bring you closer to the core problem - the self loathing you feel, the hate that you resent yourself with. The emotions you quell inside your heart. The lies you tell yourself."

Carefully, the other dares to look at him again, taking in his reaction. "Before you can't solve all that, your soul won't be reborn."

Of course this had to be about emotions. Geralt closes his eyes with a sigh, one hand rubbing over his face. It just can't be easy for once. Not even death grants him that mercy. Trying not to show the exhaustion rising inside him, he quips, "So if this is hell, what are you then? A demon? You don't look like one."

Not that he ever encountered a demon before. Tales suggested horns, hooves maybe. A pair of wings. Jaskier has none of that.

The brunette cocks his head with an amused huff, "You could call me such, but we see us more like spiritual guides to those lost in here. We show them the way out, at least we try. There are some really stubborn ones, that take quite a while before they see any reason. But never before did someone see through this… charade."

He looks incredible genuine, full of fondness and awe. Then the other adds, "Of course it would be you, to be the first."

Geralt cannot make out the deeper meaning of said statement but also can't feel bothered by that. Looks like he has a lot of time left in this realm. There are enough chances to ponder over this later. Another thought crosses his mind, making him frown again.

"So you would have just watched? The whole time while I hurt, slowly going mad from this? While I bleed and my bones break and the pain becomes unbearable?"

A blush rises on Jaskier's cheeks up to the tip of his ears, flushing even some of the visible skin on his chest. Licking his chapped lips, they glisten in a rosy pink now. It's unbelievable adorable. Geralt can't tear his eyes away, nearly missing out the explanation that follows.

"At first I… I was sent, because I was perfect to wear you down. You hate people that talk a lot, pester for long, you treasure blessed silence. So they picked me for your 'ultimate nemesis', hoping it would help wearing you down more quickly, lower your defenses for the truth to get to you. But then I… I became attached and all this was so… cruel and unfair to you. You deserved better, Geralt. So I softened the influences of this realm by my own accords and believe me - it brought me quite a bit of trouble."

So Jaskier was the reason behind the people's change in demeanour. Just in a different way than the Witcher expected.

Rubbing sheepishly at the back of his head, the guide resumes talking again.

"My superiors never expected us to get along well, so they took matters out of my hands. I could just stand there with you and endure it. I… I tried to help you the best I could and it angered them even more. So much, that I was supposed to disappear after this, chased away by your outbreak but... in the end I failed and my efforts probably matter naught."

They do. To Geralt. His slow heart skips a beat thinking of his friend getting into a fight, trying to protect him from harm. The other didn't succeed but even trying was more than most people had been willing to risk, while he was still alive. Jaskier sacrificed his own freedom for someone he barely knew and fuck - if that doesn't sting, Geralt doesn't know what does.

Averting his eyes to hide the suspicious gleam of wetness welling up, the Witcher hums again.

"That's fine, no worries. I just… thank you."

They sit together in comfortable silence afterwards, all tension drained away. Just them and the scenery of the mountain. Peaceful and calm.

After some minutes, Jaskier clicks his tongue.

"You know, now that you… that you know the trick behind all that you could… solve it. Break free of all this and move on."

The other is right, he could so that. Come clean with himself, let go of what binds him here. Stop regretting, stop the torment put on his soul by nobody but himself. Start all over again, a clean slate for a new life with hopefully more luck and happiness. Or settle down, enjoy eternal peace and a long, nice rest.

Strangely enough that doesn't sound all that alluring. With his life inclining always being on the move, coming to a stop feels wrong, like a trade unworthy for what he loses. It would mean to leave behind the friend he just found, after many decades of being alone. A friend that might even be more, if they have to be honest about feelings here and such. Geralt is not ready to dwell on that yet. Gods, he craves a strong ale. So he rises to his feet, dusting off his pants in the process.

"How about we leave this damn mountain and go back. Have a drink in the tavern and fetch Roach, then be on our way? This whole…" he stumbles over the words, gesturing vaguely, "confront yourself-nonsense isn't quite my thing. I might work this out one day, but that's surely not today or tomorrow."

Jaskier just stares at him, baffled and dumbstruck like he sees the extent of his thick skull for the first time, before he slumps with a dramatic sigh.

"Oh well, why not. It's not like we have places to be, after you blew up the script. So yeah, let's head back. Drinks are on you this time."

Like hell he'll pay for any drinks but his bard doesn't have to know that just yet. They walk down the mountain together, side by side, heart by heart, in silence again. Geralt cannot stand it one moment more.

"Sing for me, Jaskier. Whatever you like, just... choose anything."

_Everything is better than this._

Fishing the lute from his back, Jaskier smiles like the cheeky little bugger he is, the instrument sitting in his hands like second nature.

"It will be my utmost delight, my beloved wolf."

And he sings like he was asked to, all the way down the mountain and then some. It uncoils the anxious tension settled into his broad frame, calming his nerves after the madness he beared for so long.

He isn't ready to leave Jaskier behind, maybe would never be. But the Witcher would endure suffering through eternity to stay with his bard for some more.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave feedback in the comments 😘😘💖


End file.
